Date Night
by Jael K
Summary: Len and Sara finally get that date. But nothing ever goes smoothly with the Legends. (Sequel to Second Chances.)
1. Chapter 1

NOTE: This is the sequel to my fic "Second Chances," so I recommend you read that one first to meet this Len Snart. Thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta!

* * *

Truth be told, Sara had nearly forgotten about Len's offer/request that night in the brig.

Or perhaps it was more appropriate to say that she'd simply didn't think it would happen. They're busy on the Waverider after all. Down time is not something that happens very often. And since they've fallen into the same card-playing, often-flirting, occasionally drinking routine she'd had with the original Leonard Snart, well, perhaps she'd thought that was all he ever intended to pursue.

She'd been wrong.

"All right, folks," she says with a sigh, rising from the captain's chair once the Waverider's parked safely in Central City 2017 and the shielding illusion is up. "You have 36 hours. Use it wisely. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Mick snorts at that, stretching as he rises and causing an audible "crick" from his spine that makes Amaya, next to him, wince. "Seriously? You wanna tell this lot that?"

"OK. Don't do anything you don't want to have to explain to me later. Is that better?" With a smile, she turns away from his rejoinder (and the sound of the others comparing notes on the things they're going to do, family they're going to see, and non-replicator meals they're going to eat) and toward the corridor toward quarters, planning to spend this "shore leave" at the ship so the rest of the team can relax.

She semi-expects/hopes Len will stay too. But she doesn't want to single him out and make him feel obligated, not when all the others are free to leave. If he stays, she wants him to want to.

And she's probably making it more complicated than it needs to be.

Sara heads to her room; he'll follow or he won't. And she's not going to stand there waiting for him. Any longer than a minute, anyway.

But that moment or two comes and goes, and she shakes her head, moving to her bed and stretching out, telling herself that she's not disappointed, not at all, it's going to be nice to have time to herself, she's going to watch every stupid rom-com Gideon has on file and eat ice cream and …

There's a rap at the door.

Len is there when she opens it, but he's not wearing either his white, blue and black uniform or his habitual gray T and jeans, the equally habitual bottle of something in his hand. Instead, he's looking dapper as hell, black dress pants and a sapphire blue button-down shirt, a look on his face that seems oddly tentative, hands shoved in his pockets and somehow still not spoiling the look.

Sara blinks at him, feeling like she's missed something. "Yes?" she manages.

That gets her a Snart shrug and one corner of his mouth ticks up. "I think," he says, in a tone that attempts to be smooth and doesn't quite manage it—his ice isn't anywhere near as thick as Earth-1 Leonard's had been, and damn, that sounds kinda dirty, "we talked, once, about a date? For dinner?"

"Now?" Sara thinks back, startled.

He clears his throat. "Well. All that was mentioned was 'sometime when we have some time.' And a firm 'we'll see.' But I was…hoping…"

The optimism in his eyes is rather charming, actually. Sara lets a smile cross her face, but there's regret as well. "I would love to…but I promised to stay here so the others could go out…"

Now there's a spark. "Way ahead of you, Captain," he drawls, sounding like his doppelganger. "Mick agreed to stay tonight. For me. And you." He considers. "Well. Maybe I bribed him. But that's rather beside the point. So?"

She shouldn't. "Just let me get dressed."

* * *

Mick lets out a low rumble of laughter as Sara shows up on the bridge not long later, wearing something she hopes says "semi-casual first date with a former thief from another world"—and, boy, has her life gotten even stranger than expected. The noise manages to be both teasing and oddly affectionate, and Sara grins at him, moving over to bump his shoulder with her own.

"You have my number," she tells her friend and unofficial second in command, who's sitting in the captain's chair with his legs stretched out ahead of him and a book in his hand. "I don't know when I'll be back, but sometime tonight. Then you can…"

But Mick's rumbling again at her words, a knowing chuckle, and Sara folds her arms and glares at him good-naturedly. Len's not on the bridge at the moment, so she doesn't hesitate to puncture Mick's apparently somewhat-misplaced expectations. (Best not to think about why she might have paused if Len _had_ been there.)

"I'm not falling into bed with him after one date," she hisses at him quietly. "Dinner. Maybe…I dunno…a walk or something. I'll be back."

Mick eyes her, grinning. "Not one date," he corrects, sitting his book down on the arm of the chair. "Few weeks of card-playin' and serious flirtin' by this point. And if you count even of a fraction of what went down with _our_ Snart…"

" _Don't_."

They both pause at the note of warning in her voice—a note Sara hadn't intended to be quite so angry...or distressed. She starts to apologize almost immediately, but Mick holds up a hand, shaking his head.

"I get it," he mutters, looking away, then back, meeting her eyes. "It ain't him. Sara…" He almost never uses her given name. "…no one here knows better 'n me that it's not."

"I know…" Sara sighs. "Mick. Maybe…maybe there's something there. I mean, I like Len. A lot. I've enjoyed spending time with him. I'm…I'm attracted to him." The other man grunts a little as he eyes her, and Sara shrugs. It's not the kind of thing they usually talk about, but _he_ brought it up. "But nothing…serious…is going to happen until I can look at him and see _him_. Not Leonard."

After a moment, Mick sighs too. "Might be waiting a long time, then," he mutters, but then leans back in the chair and shrugs. "Ain't him. But this one, he's a decent dude in his own right. Keep that in mind too. OK?"

What can she do but agree?

* * *

The look in Len's eyes, when he arrives on the bridge to meet her, is gratifyingly rapt. Mick barks out another laugh as the other man stops dead in his tracks, trying very hard not to stare.

"You," Len says smoothly after a moment, though, approaching, "look gorgeous."

It's just a pair of nice slacks and a golden silk top. Sara, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious, reaches up to toy with the pendant of carved amber that's hanging around her throat, just under Laurel's necklace. "Not too fancy? You didn't say…"

"Not at all." His lopsided smile is utterly unlike anything she's seen on that face before—no matter what owner it'd had. It's an almost boyish expression. And while she knows he watches her a lot—any version of Leonard she's ever seen has, frankly—it's still a surprise when she catches him watching with that look in his eyes. The one that mingles fondness, respect, appreciation and, yes, desire, all in those blue eyes and…

Mick laughs again, and Sara realizes she and Len have been standing there staring at each other. She glares at Mick good-naturedly, but Len chuckles, stepping forward and offering Sara his arm.

After a moment, she takes it.

* * *

Len Snart is a realist. Really, he is.

OK, so that seems sort of weird, given how his recent life has gone. He's a superhero now, or so he's told. (He still prefers antihero, but whatever.) He's acquired ice powers, which happened when his cold gun went critical during a fight. He's gone drinking with aliens, snarked at the Dark Knight of his world's Gotham City, and flirted wildly with an actual Amazon of Themyscira. Hell, he's even on a bona fide different Earth right now, ever since the bad guy of the moment had opened that portal during a League mission.

Still, as weird as it's all been, it's a little more believable to him than that he'd be…here. Strolling down a street in Central City—not quite _his_ Central City, but still—with one of the most remarkable women he's ever met on his arm. For a date. An actual date. An actual date to an actual nice restaurant to which they have actual reservations. (This Earth's Barry Allen, while aware there was an alternate Snart running around with the Legends, had been somewhat flummoxed when that Snart had called him up for dining recommendations.)

And this remarkable woman truly seems to like him. Well…she'd liked the him from this Earth, but by now, maybe _him_ -him too? He thinks. Enough to do this crazy impromptu date thing, anyway.

He glances toward her as they walk. Sara, feeling the gaze, turns her head to return it. She smirks at him a little, but it seems to be an affectionate smirk.

His doppelganger here, he's long since decided, was an idiot. Well, that's not quite fair. From everything Mick's said, and a crumb here and there from Sara, that man had been a lot more damaged. Lewis had survived a lot longer, for one thing, continuing to fuck up his children's lives in new and more creative ways, and there'd been someone or something called "Alexa."

Really, especially given all that, Len can only thank Earth-1 Leonard for being someone who'd managed to intrigue Sara Lance enough that she'd give him a shot.

"So, where are we going?" the amazing woman in question asks, and frankly he's a little surprised she'd waited this long.

"Place called The Red Pepper." He gives her a tentative look. "You said you liked Thai food. I was looking for a really good fusion place I remember from, ah, where I'm from, but it apparently doesn't exist here. I'm told this one seems pretty similar, got a great review…"

"I love good Thai." Sara's voice is fervent. "And it's something Gideon just does not manage well. Sounds fabulous."

"Excellent." He clears his throat. "Sorry, I'd have, ah, called a cab or something if it wasn't a nice evening. But I thought the walk might be good."

"You mean you would have hot-wired a car."

Len starts to deny it, then eyes her as she laughs. "Well. Maybe…."

Could he have? Sure. Would he have? Honestly, it's not so much his style when there's an easier and less attention-getting way of accomplishing the same thing. Apparently his other self wouldn't have…and hadn't, in the past…hesitated.

He's competing with a goddamned ghost.

But he swallows the sigh, and smirks at Sara instead. "Well," he drawls a little, "it _is_ a nice evening. So it doesn't matter much."

There's a flicker in her eyes, and he curses himself for giving something away. Hell, he doesn't want to remind her of the other him. But it seems there's really no way he can avoid it, and he blunders again and again.

Best, perhaps, to just carry on and try to be himself, corny as that sounds.

Len casts about for a topic. They've talked a lot, the past few weeks, and they know a bit each other's background. She doesn't exist, on his Earth, so far as he knows. He knows a Black Canary, a Dinah Laurel Lance—hell, he's fought with her, flirted with her a bit. But not much, because of her husband, the Green Arrow, his Earth's Oliver Queen.

He hasn't told Sara about that. And he probably won't.

But Dinah doesn't have a sister. He knows because he'd asked once. Mostly to irritate Ollie.

He sincerely likes Dinah; she's badass and gorgeous and she's got a sense of humor, but he likes Sara far more. There are more shadows to her, more edges, but a sense of something grounded, too, a basic practicality he doesn't see often in the heroes in whose company he's been finding himself. (Or the villains too, really. There's often nothing less practical than the sort of person who, confronted with a costumed hero, decides to level up instead of getting the hell outta Dodge. Which might be a little pot-meet-kettle, really.)

"So," he continues, studying the buildings of center city around them, the businesspeople headed home, the tourists scattered about, taking pictures of architecture and public art and each other. (Ah, _that's_ where the Flash Museum is located, on his Earth. The one here apparently hasn't gotten quite that level of adulation yet.) "What do people on this Earth talk about, in normal first-date-kinda situations? Not that we're either quite normal by most standards. And I know we've already talked quite a bit, last few weeks. But…well, what do you like to do, when you're not being all badass captain of a time ship?"

Sara's lips twitch. "Well, what you do when you're not being all crook-turned-hero-on-another-Earth?" she returns. "Regular…stuff."

"Like?" When she pauses to think about it, Len offers up something of his own. "I like cheesy sci-fi movies. Books. Most books." He smirks. "Museums."

"Uh huh." Sara's voice is dry. "Relieving museums of certain things…"

"I don't do that anymore." He tries to sound innocent and doesn't quite manage it.

"Uh huh." She laughs a little, glancing at him. "I like movies. Hmmm…hanging out with friends. I like to dance."

"Aaahhh. So next time, I should take you dancing?"

His tone is teasing as he watches her, but then his gut twists as a shadow crosses Sara's expression, her face falling a little. There's no doubt at all why, at least in general terms. The ghost is there between them again.

"Never mind," he backtracks immediately. "Never mind. I didn't realize…that was one of your things. I didn't think…"

He stops again. There's really nothing he can say, is there?

It's just going to happen again.

* * *

So many traps to stumble into. So many pitfalls to remind her of the Leonard she'd first known.

But Len is looking away, his easy gait now a bit stilted, tension in the arm where her hand is resting. She knows him well enough now to know that he's bothered, and for a long moment, she wonders if this whole thing was a mistake. Maybe she shouldn't even have agreed to this at all until she could get past more of the ghosts that hover there between them.

"No, it's…" Sara sighs. "The first place we stopped, on the ship. St. Roch, 1972. Leonard, Mick and I, we left the ship and found a bar. Got some dollar beers; Mick put on the jukebox." She smiles a little despite herself. "I asked Leonard to dance."

"You did?" Len sounds intrigued despite himself. "All I've heard, he didn't seem like, ah, the sort."

"He wasn't. Didn't know him well at the time." Her lips twitch a little. "He declined. Said he'd watch."

She watches Len try to figure out how to respond to that without innuendo…and eventually simply give up. "Can't say I blame him," he drawls, eyeing her. "I rather like to _watch_."

"Do you now." It's not a question. They smirk at each other a moment, awkwardness passed for now, and then Sara decides she needs to ask the obvious question.

"Do _you_ dance?"

"Mmmm." He looks though his lashes at her. "With the right partner."

"Good to know." She hesitates. "So…you'd take me dancing?"

"Captain Lance, I would love to." Len smiles at her, one of those genuine smiles that are his alone, and Sara grins back, and maybe this will work out after all.

Of course, that's when they hear the screams.


	2. Chapter 2

They've moved out of the city center at this point, out of the tourist district, but it's still a decent little business district, the sort with lots of smaller businesses, independently owned stores, small galleries. Most of them are closed at this hour and there aren't really many people around, but it's not really a place Sara would have expected trouble. She whips around, pinpointing the sound as coming from a narrow alley between a closed lawyer's office and an equally dark boutique.

Her bo, collapsed and tucked up a sleeve, is already sliding into her hand, and she's released the hidden catches on her forearm sheaths, just in case she needs the knives there. She glances at Len, uncertain for a moment. Cynical Earth-1 Leonard would probably have helped. Probably. If she'd asked. After he'd gotten a little better read on the situation.

But Len's…Len's already at her side, unbuttoning his cuffs to shove his shirtsleeves as far as possible up to his shoulders.

"I like this shirt," he tells her defensively, even as his hands and forearms start to ice up. "Lead on, captain."

She leads on.

They've fought together often enough at this point to know the other's moves. Sara charges into the alley a few steps ahead of Len, but she knows what he's going to do. As soon as she can, she cuts to the side, extended bo clobbering a dark-clad man who's watching his cohorts circle a woman a few feet away. Even as she does so, she hears the crackle of ice behind her, the ambient temperature of the alley dropping a few degrees. She knows a streak of ice, moisture pulled from the air itself, is running down the center of the alley, making it tough for anyone, good guy or bad guy, to keep their footing.

"Well, we can always sort 'em out later, right?" he'd explained it once. "Chances are a slip isn't going to hurt someone too much. At any rate, it's less risky than hurling actual ice blasts around if you don't know precisely what's going on. Still working on fine control, but in an emergency, it ain't happening yet."

Sara couldn't argue. In fact, she'd had him ice down the floor of the training room a few times so she could practice on a slick surface and also see what footwear worked best on ice. Gideon had complained mightily about the mess as it thawed.

But Sara isn't wearing her new boots today, the ones with the soles designed for fighting with a teammate who can throw ice around like she flings knives. That doesn't mean she can't deal with the ice—or even use it to her advantage.

So, turning, she takes one step, two, and hits the ice in a controlled slide, tearing through the men who've turned in confusion to try and figure out what's going on. Within a moment, she's reached the woman, who's still standing there shrieking-though she'd at least had the presence of mind to pick up a board that'd been propped up against the dumpster at the back of the alley.

"It's OK," Sara hisses. "Shh! We've got this."

The woman, who's younger than Sara and a bit frail-looking, stares at her, then drags in a quick breath as if to tell her something or scream again. Sara shakes her head, though, and she stops, still wide-eyed. The captain of the Waverider nods, then pushes her back to a corner, half-hidden, before turning to continue taking care of whatever she needs to.

But Len's already dealt with the other men, who are partially iced to the buildings on either side of the alley. She's given him enough time and space to reach for the control he's been working for, and he's reached it enough to confine without overtly harming. He's standing there, sleeves still rolled up and forearms still coated with ice, watching her, eyes bright and intent, and she takes a step toward him…

"Snart!"

They both whirl, but the man backing out of the dark back of the alley is only looking at Len—which doesn't speak well for his survival instincts. The unknown has his hands up, but he seems to be gaping at Len's face, not his icy arms, and Sara notices that Len obscures them as soon as he can, stepping back a little into the shadows himself.

"We didn't know you were back," the thug protests, a note of fear in his tone. "We didn't know, Snart!"

The man is trying to edge toward the street, but Sara moves to cut off his path. Len glances at her, then squares his shoulders, moving forward again. His arms are now bare of ice, and his sleeves are covering them again.

In a weird sort of twist, Gideon had told them at this Snart is physically a handful of years younger than the one from Earth-1, but it's difficult to tell that at a glance. From things he's said to her, she's pretty sure he has fewer scars, but no two-bit hitter is going to know that.

"Ignorance," he tells the thug in what's apparently meant to be a cold…and Cold…voice, "is no excuse." And he doesn't sound quite like Leonard either, in some indefinable way, but apparently that's only obvious to her right now. Certainly, the other man still believes he's who he seems to be.

"It's all Monteleone," the man says, keeping his hands up, voice a little desperate as he takes another step back, watching Len, but now glancing back to check Sara's location too. "He's kinda … kinda the boss in town now. I…"

"Monteleone. Jack Monteleone?" Len's voice drops a little, anger touching it, and he sounds more like his Earth-1 doppelganger than Sara's ever heard him sound before. Sara, surprised, studies him as he stalks toward the thug, who looks rather intimidated.

"Y…yeah." The man swallows and retreats another step. "Snart, I'll tell people yer back in town, Monteleone would talk, cut a deal, just let me…"

"What's he running?" Len's voice is low, dangerous, and Sara feels the temperature drop a little again. He's going to give up the charade if he loses control of his powers, she thinks, then makes a noise, trying to get his attention. But he's focused on the other man, rage flickering in his eyes, and Sara's starting to get an inkling why.

"Don' know, just…stuff…"

Len's hands tighten into fists and the temperature drops a little more. But before Sara can say anything, the young woman, the one whose screams had started this whole thing, emerges back into the relatively dim light and lets out a strangled sound when she sees the man standing there and the others scattered about.

But to Sara's surprise, she doesn't fade back into the shadows or otherwise quail. Instead, she rushes toward them, toward the man with his hands out, distress and anger on her face.

"Where are they?" she cries. "What did you do with them?"

Sara and Len both blink at her, and the man takes that opportunity to try to dart past them, toward the mouth of the alley. Sara turns and almost casually clips him with her bo, sending him sprawling. She hadn't meant to knock him out, but he hits his head against the concrete surface himself and goes limp. Sara shakes her head, checking his breathing, then rises to look back at Len.

Len has an armful of weeping woman, and while he looks distinctly awkward about it, she can't even imagine Earth-1 Leonard doing such a thing. She shakes her head again to chase away the memories, moving toward them.

"They took my little boy, and my husband," the woman sobs. "And it's all my fault. I didn't know what they had me carrying. We needed some money…when I found out, I got rid of the…the stuff…and they want it back!"

Len, eyes narrowed, puts his hands on her shoulders and moves her away from him, holding her there at arm's length.

"Drugs," he growls, "in my city. The hell?"

The woman stares at him with distressed eyes, but his demeanor isn't threatening, just irritated.

"I didn't know," she says brokenly. "I didn't know. I guess…I guess I didn't want to know."

Len shakes his head at her. "Honey," he growls, "if somethin' seems too good to be true, it usually is."

* * *

Like this whole date thing, Len thinks, although he's trying to keep that thought off his face. Definitely too good to be true. Shoulda known.

Still, he may not be a shiny, ride-in-on-the-white-horse good guy, but he's not letting a kid suffer the consequences of a stupid decision like this. And he's not letting this world's version of the goddamned Candyman run drugs in Central City.

He's also not going to let this world's version of the Flash off the hook for letting it get this far in the first place. But first things first.

Besides him, Sara sighs, and he might be imagining that the sound contains as much regret as he's feeling for the wreckage of their evening. " _They_ took them, you said," she says to the other woman. "Who? When? Where? What precisely did they say?"

"We were out…we went to Big Belly Burger. It's my son's favorite, I thought…"

"Focus!" Len's trying not to sound irritated, he really is, but it leaks out anyway.

She barely seems to notice. "…I saw them, I tried to get Jonathan to take Michael and run, but he wouldn't…then there was another group, and they…"

"They herded them down here," Sara finishes. Len glances at her and sees her studying the alley, the buildings on either side. "It's a dead zone. There are cameras all over Central; you can see them if you know where to look. But there are no cameras here."

Len nods to himself. Sara notices things, too. "So, no Flash. Even he's gotta see or hear about stuff somehow." He looks at the woman, who's wringing her hands. "So it was right before we heard you?"

"Yes, they grabbed Jon and Mikey and just…took them. They said they were…" She swallows. "…going to, to give me a taste of what would happen to them if I didn't get the stuff back. But it's gone. I threw it in the canal! I didn't want it anywhere around us."

While he can't argue with her distaste, it really wasn't the brightest move. "I'm sure the fish are very appreciative."

Sara cuts in again. "Where are you supposed to take it?" She sighs as the other woman blinks at her. "Look, I know this is hard. But we're trying to help, and you need to give us information, at least."

Something about Sara's exasperated patience gets through. The other woman straightens, looking hopeful. "The old hotel, by the piers," she says. "The one that partly burned a few years back? That's what they said."

"How long did they give you?"

"By 9!" The woman looks like she's going to cry again. "Either the…the stuff…or the money."

Len's lost patience. "Drugs," he snaps. "You were carrying drugs for them. Have the nerve to say the word."

"I didn't know!"

"You _knew_ ," Sara tells her, a touch of ice in her own tone. "On some level. You just didn't want to know." She glances at Len again. "If we flag down the Flash, we can figure out what to do from here."

Yeah, dinner's just not happening now. "Right. I want a word with him anyway." Turning, he stalks to the entrance to the alleyway and casts about for a camera, which isn't difficult. Double-checking that the folks around are pretty much minding their own business, he waves at it…and then, icing down his hand, flips it off.

That would get his world's Barry Allen speeding over. From what he's heard, this world's Barry isn't so different. Given that the Team Flash he's heard about monitors the city's network of cameras, the combination of suddenly plummeting temperature readings, the clear view of a former nemesis and the smartass gesture should get someone's attention.

He's barely made it back to Sara and the distraught woman when there's a golden blur flickering around them, a blur that then resolves into the figure of a red-suited man, who stares at him like he's seeing…

Like he's seeing a ghost.

Sara speaks before the speedster can, though. "I have the information we need," she says, her tone clearly warning him…them…not to get into any talk of alternate Earths or secret identities just yet. "Flash, can you take her somewhere safe? Get her out of this." She turns to the woman before Barry can do more than blink at her. "We'll get them back. But you need to stay put. OK?"

The woman is crying again. "I will. I will. Thank you…"

For his part, Barry…it must be Barry, right?...takes a deep breath and then nods, apparently deciding, wisely, that it's better not to argue with Sara. He takes the woman's arm and speeds off again in that flicker of golden light.

Leaving Len and Sara standing there looking at each other.

* * *

There's regret in Len's eyes as he watches her, but Sara has noticed that he hasn't even once suggested reluctance to do something about this situation. Hell, his anger at the notion of a drug ring like this—headed by someone he's apparently somewhat familiar with—suggests completely the opposite.

Still. Regret. On both their parts.

After a moment, Len shrugs, offering her that lopsided grin again.

"Well," he says lightly, "at least we're not bored."

"Hmm." Sara smirks at him. "True. But you think maybe the Flash can handle it without us?"

He snorts in derision. "If he hasn't yet, he probably can't. Some things are apparently true in all the worlds."

"Like you giving Barry Allen shit?"

"Even so."

And just like that, the golden blur is back, stopping in front of them and resolving into the red-suited speedster, who stares at Len with a stunned expression (after a glance at Sara, who's at least a known quantity). After a moment, he pulls off his hood, and the two men blink at each other.

Len, typically, doesn't remain flat-footed for long. "You're the Flash?" he drawls, sauntering in a slow circle around Barry, who turns to keep him in view. "Huh. You…look different on my Earth."

"I do?" The hero looks a little baffled by the whole thing. "Um. How?"

"More blondish. Older." Len waves a hand. "We're more…contemporaries."

"Do you flirt with that one like you do this one?" Sara mutters, grinning. Len winks at her. Barry, catching the byplay, turns a little red, but sticks his hand out to the other man.

"Uh. Hi," he says sheepishly. "I heard you were…visiting. Pleased to meet you. I think."

Len considers the hand a moment, then shrugs and shakes it. As far as Sara can tell, he doesn't even bother lowering his body temperature to give the hero icy fingers. Barry, regaining his equilibrium a little, glances at Sara then.

"Sara?" he asks. "I know you guys were back visiting-Ray stopped by earlier-but why are you and Snart…this Snart…"

"Len," Len supplies helpfully.

"…uh, Len doing _here_?"

Sara's lips twitch. "Well, we _had_ dinner plans."

Barry blinks again. "What?"

Sara rolls her eyes. She can understand, she thinks with amusement, why any version of Leonard likes to mess with Barry Allen. It's so easy.

"You heard me," she tells him drily.

"We had a _date_ , Allen," Len chimes in, tone dripping with annoyance. "Although you hero types have kinda dropped the ball and messed it up at this point."

Barry's jaw drops.

* * *

Sure, it's always fun to mess with Barry—any Barry-but Len's not sure he likes how dumbfounded the man seems to be at those words. He's not sure if it's because the other man is used to him being a villain or because he thinks Sara Lance is out of Len's league.

Personally, Len _knows_ Sara Lance is out of his league. But he's not happy Barry Allen seems to think so too.

The—he's just a kid, really—picks his jaw up after a moment, staring at Len. Then he shakes his head.

" _You_ 're dating Sara Lance?" he manages, glancing at Sara. "Seriously?"

Hey, now, that's just insulting. Len glares at him, folding his arms.

"Well," he says accusatorily, "I'm _trying_."

Sara snickers at that. Len throws her an amused look, then glances back at Barry. "No thanks to the hero who's _supposed_ to be doing all this shit," he adds. "Sleeping on the job, _Flash_. Jack Monteleone's running drugs in your city. He's bad news. What the hell?"

Barry has the grace to look a little sheepish. "Well, the thing is, I'd never heard of him until a week or two ago. We haven't been able to figure out where he's based. And for some reason, he's been able to stay off our radar," he says, rallying. "Kinda literally. We just can't get a good fix. It's giving Cisco fits."

Len frowns. "Cisco?"

But Barry's rolling on. "I mean, I've tried." He shakes his head. "He's been a step ahead of me."

"Well. We know by the hotel at the docks now."

The kid looks skeptical. "But it's a wreck. That's not his base."

Len has his doubts, but he shrugs. "So at any rate, we gotta get the guy and kid outta there and then take Monteleone out, since you can't." Len snorts. "Peachy." He lifts an eyebrow as Barry stares at him again. "What? You think I'm leaving him there to fuck up my city? No."

Hesitating a moment, he eyes Sara. "Canary? I know it's not what I promised, but you in?"

"Hell, yeah." Sara frowns, though. "But we don't have much time, and it sounds like just rushing the place isn't a good idea…"

"No," Barry says fervently.

"…but that hitter. He was not happy to think you…Leonard was back." She shakes her head. "I know Mick said he never held with drugs on his turf…"

"It's one of the reasons a lot of stuff never caught on here," Barry starts, even as Len mutters, "Well, there's another thing we had in common."

Sara's quiet a moment. Then she sighs and looks right at Len.

"You think you could be, well, _him_ for a bit?" she says quietly. "Just to get us in there? To give us a chance to rescue them?"


	3. Chapter 3

It would, Barry Allen thinks, take more time and far more understanding of personal dynamics than he has to unpack the undercurrents he's blundered into here.

Snart…Len…is staring at Sara and there's something pained in his expression. He almost looks…hurt? And Sara isn't meeting his eyes anymore, like she understands she's asked something that's apparently problematic in a way Barry doesn't get. After a moment, Len looks away too, shrugging.

"Yeah," he mutters. "I could try. I mean, I look like 'im, right?"

"Mostly," Sara says quietly, even as Barry agrees.

"Well." The older man shrugs again. "Let's get somewhere we can hash this one out, get a plan. Kid's probably terrified. Don't want to leave 'im there any longer than we have to."

And with that, he turns and ambles for the entrance to the alley. Sara, after a moment, follows.

Barry, who's wishing on some level that Cisco's facial recognition software hadn't picked up on the presence of a certain Snart doppelganger and alerted him, sighs and follows them both.

* * *

Sara, to be honest, wants to scream.

 _I didn't suggest you pretend to be him because I miss him,_ she wants to tell Len _. I suggested you do it because it'll get a foot in the door of this Monteleone. Because that man was scared of him. Because we only have about 90 minutes before this deadline, and there are lives at stake._

But she doesn't scream. And she doesn't say it. Any of it.

Instead she just follows…wondering if any of it's true.

She doesn't think she's-ugh, pining, she guesses it would be pining-for her…for the original Leonard so much that she's purposefully trying to make Len into him. It was just logical, right? He's logical, just like…

She'd been about to think "just like real Leonard." Sara sighs.

She'd rather expected to head to STAR Labs, but Barry balks, right at the edge of the alley, where he's still in the shadows.

"Cisco's actually out of town," he admits. "A family thing. And Caitlin and Harry are at the lab and asked for some privacy to run an experiment. I'd rather honor that if possible."

Sara tilts her head, glad for the distraction. "An experiment, eh? Like…a personal one?" If she's not going to be able to see where her own love life might be going right now, she'll speculate on other people's.

"What? No!" Barry looks appalled. "What…"

"I don't know who any of these people are," Len mutters, cutting him off. "Where the hell are we going then?"

The speedster hesitates, then nods to himself. "I'd rather not drag Iris or Joe into this unless we really need them," he says, "but neither of them is home right now. Snart, you know where…"

Len gives him a flat look and Barry flushes. "Uh, you don't, do you? Um. Oh, hell." He nods to himself, then blurs away in a gold streak…only to return in street clothes, shrugging.

"Jitters!" he announces. "We can sit outside and talk. No one's going to think we're discussing anything serious. I'll even buy, since Flash business sort of interrupted your, uh, date."

Len snorts, the sound full of derision.

"Oh sure, let's sit at a coffeehouse and talk about taking down the local drug kingpin. Which we have to do in the space of…" He makes a show of checking his watch. "…79 minutes. Brilliant."

Barry gives him a wounded look. "Got a better idea?"

Sara cuts in, trying to intervene before the snarkfest escalates.

"You're both right," she says. "We need to talk, but we need to do it somewhere slightly more private and we need more information. Barry, can you speed us to your house?" She holds up a hand as Len groans. "I know. But we need a minute…and a few things, including a map of the area, and I don't want to be peering at the tiny one on my phone."

She holds out an arm and Barry takes it. Then they both look expectantly at Len.

Sara's not sure what she'll do if he refuses. But after a long moment, Len sighs and extends his arm too.

* * *

Travel by speedster is every bit as unpleasant here as it is at home. Len shakes his head, still trying to settle himself, as he and Sara wait for Barry in the living room of the neat home the speedster had taken them to. Barry had darted away to deal with something else for a moment, and Len has a certain suspicion he'd been relieved to get away from the awkwardness.

Sara's still watching him like she's not sure what his next reaction is going to be. He's not sure either.

To be fair, he understands perfectly well why Sara had suggested he pose as this world's Leonard. It makes sense. The man was obviously someone who's going to get a certain amount of…cautious respect, perhaps…from this Earth's Monteleone. All they need is that foot in the door.

But he's only human. And he's getting mighty frustrated by his inability to get out from under his doppelganger's shadow.

After a moment, he holds up a wall, leaning against it and crossing his arms, trying to look nonchalant. Sara eyes him, folding her own arms. She's sensed his discontent; he's positive of that. So maybe it's time to clear the air.

"It's a good idea," he tells her quietly, before she can speak. "You're right. It should get us in the door."

Sara rises an eyebrow. "Yeah?" she returns, leaning against the opposing wall. "You mean that?"

"Wouldn't say it otherwise." He sighs. "Sara…"

But, as he knows well, one of the drawbacks to both working against and with a speedster is that they traditionally have colossally bad timing. This one is no exception.

Barry flickers up even as Len searches for the words to convey his feelings to Sara, grinning…at least, until he sees them both glaring at him.

He thrusts a map and a bundled leather jacket toward Sara, taking a step defensively back.

Sara meets Len's eyes for a long moment, then shakes her head. She juggles the items, tucking the map under her arm, then looks at the jacket for a minute, something wistful in her eyes.

"Layers," she says with a sigh, holding it out to Len. "If you're going to…you need more layers. The jacket at least. Maybe another shirt under that, although that's not as noticeable."

Len takes it, frowning. "Seriously?" he says, smoothing the soft leather between his fingers. "It's warm out. And I'll ruin it the minute I ice up, if that's a thing I need to do."

Sara's eyes are distant. " _He_ always had multiple layers on. It was…well. Consider it armor."

Barry glances back and forth between them, uncertain. "What?" he says, then brightens. "Oh, right. I heard you had ice powers. Can I see?"

Len lifts an eyebrow at him, trying to decide whether to bestow snark (for the inappropriate timing) or innuendo ('cause it's fun) on the other man when Barry suddenly looks like he's realized something.

"Crap," he says. "Um, Monteleone is going to expect you to have the cold gun on you. You walk in without it, he's gonna know something's up." Then he snaps his fingers." I know!"

He flickers away, leaving Sara and Len staring after him, but he's back before they so much as exchange another word, pushing a large black gun into Len's arms. It looks somewhat like his old gun, but not quite, and he stares at it a moment before lifting his eyes to the speedster.

"It's just a prototype," Barry tells him. "It doesn't actually work. But Monteleone won't know that, and you can, uh, always fake it."

Len regards the gun a moment, then shrugs. "All right." He hands it back to Barry a moment, then pulls the jacket on, settling it with a shrug of his shoulders, then takes the gun back and looks at Sara.

After the briefest moment of something raw, her expression is…well, "set" is probably the best word. She nods to him, and he glances at Barry—who looks sad a moment before nodding himself.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "You could fool him. But you, ah…" He glances at Sara. "…you need less you in your eyes. You need to be...colder."

Sara seems uninclined to speak at the moment, so Len just does the best he can. He narrows his eyes, trying to project a frosty image—it's not like he's never done that before. No emotion, he tells himself. No connections. No feelings.

And he must have succeeded at least somewhat, because Sara makes a pained noise and glances away. Barry sighs, but nods. "OK," he says, watching Len, "say something."

Len glares at him. "Like what?" he mutters, but irritation definitely leaks through.

Sara sighs, finally. "Make your voice…" She nibbles her lip. "Well, colder. A little lower. Try to…distance yourself. There weren't many people he liked and I'm pretty sure he'd hate this Monteleone guy. It'd either be out-and-out dislike or…"

"Snark," Barry supplies. "I've heard you do that." He nods. "And the drawl."

"That goddamned drawl," Sara mutters. "Yeah. Just…insolent." Her lips actually twitch up a little. "I _know_ you can do that. I've heard it."

Len snorts. "Tell me again why you liked him?" he drawls, uneasy and unable to help himself. " 'Cause between the attachment issues and the attitude problem, he sounds like a real peach to me."

He regrets the words the moment he says them, but Sara just shakes her head.

"We're talking about the façade, Len," she says quietly. "Not the real man."

Barry nods in agreement, then turns to Sara, clearly trying to break up the tension.

"You said you want something to change into?" he asks. "Iris would understand…"

Sara allows the other man to lead her upstairs, leaving Len standing there holding the cold gun. After an uncomfortable moment, he turns away, studying the layout, the décor, the photos—huh, Iris looks different here, too—and trying to figure out if he should steal something, just for old time's sake.

There's a mirror by the door. He saunters over, regarding himself in it. He still looks like…well, himself.

There's time for some acting practice.

"Snart. Leonard Snart," he tells his reflection coldly, raising his chin and narrowing his eyes. "This is _my_ city. What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

His reflection does, indeed, look a bit intimidating. But it also looks pissed, because Len is. Not emotionless enough? He doesn't know.

"Monteleone." He clears his throat, recognizing his own disgust for the man in that name. " _Monteleone_. What. The. _Fuck_."

The image looks unimpressed. Len shrugs.

"I've had enough of these goddamned drugs in my goddamned city." Do they have Samuel L. Jackson on this world? Surely he transcends Earths?

He snorts at his own distraction, then sighs, eyeing the mirror. The other Snart looks equally perturbed. And Len's had enough.

"I'm Leonard Snart," he taunts his reflection. "And I'm an idiot."

He shakes his head, thinking about the whole damned situation, his jacket-wearing, self-sacrificing counterpart and the shadow he continues to cast.

"I had an amazing woman interested in me," he heckles the image, "and I was a broody jackass and didn't say anything until it was too late."

He sighs and glances away. "And I fucked it up for anyone else who might be wearing my face. Not that he…I…should have expected that, but weirder things have happened, and…"

And as he turns back, he sees Sara at the base of the stairs, watching him.

Oops.

Len turns again, trying to look smooth, choosing to believe that Sara heard none, or at least little, of that. She's wearing a black motorcycle jacket over her outfit now, lending her native deadliness an added air of intimidation, and she looks just as gorgeous.

Frankly, he can't imagine a situation in which he wouldn't think she looks beautiful.

"Where's the kid?" he asks, nonchalantly leaning against the wall again. "You two my entourage on this caper?"

Sara's lips quirk. "He's trying to decide if he owns anything that looks intimidating," she says. "And I suppose so. Going in there alone wouldn't be a good idea, even for 'Captain Cold.'"

Len chuckles, eyeing her. But he's just trying to decide if it would be OK to flirt a little when she speaks again.

"So…'amazing'?"


	4. Chapter 4

The mini double-take and the expression on Len's face as he realizes she'd heard him is rather priceless. Sara keeps her face just mildly inquiring, waiting to see what he'll do.

For her part…well. Maybe she does need to start looking at things in a different light.

He bounces back relatively quickly, giving her that lopsided smirk. "Well," he drawls, taking a step closer. "I do try to tell the truth."

Sara looks at him from under her lashes. "Since when?"

* * *

Something's different. Good-different, Len thinks, sidling a little closer.

"Never lied to you," he tells her quietly. "Sara."

Her voice is even quieter. "I know."

Somehow, he knows, even as he takes one more step, that they're going to be interrupted. But he does it anyway.

And he's right.

"How's this?"

Barry Allen bounds down the stairs, grinning—again, until he sees how close they're standing, how Sara's face is tilted upward toward Len's, how Len's looking down at her. He squeaks-that's the only possible description for it, really—and glances away.

"Um…I can go back upstairs…"

Len, staring into Sara's amused eyes, wishes for patience. And a secluded hotel room somewhere. But mostly, at this moment, for patience.

"Allen," he drawls, glancing over, "how's _what_?"

"Uh. Does this say 'Snart henchman' to you?"

Regretfully stepping away from Sara, Len gives him a onceover. Not bad, actually…decent suit, pretty natty, really. "Got dark glasses? I know you can be all speedy and keep him from knowing who you are, but better to avoid a clear look anyway."

"Sunglasses at night?"

"Got a better idea?"

"Just go with them," Sara advises. "We're running out of time." Walking over to the dining room table, she spreads up the map of the piers, pointing out the hotel site as Len and Barry join her. "So the idea is, we're presuming this Monteleone will let you…" She looks at Len. "…and us in if you seem like you want to…chat. You really think that's true?"

Len's nodding. "The Snart here, whatever else he was…" He gives Sara a smirking sidelong look. "…did apparently have some clout in certain circles. And Monteleone, if he's anything like the one on my Earth, he'll want that…air of legitimacy…that Snart could give him." He shrugs. "It's easier and safer than a turf war."

"And he wasn't in town when, uh, the original Leonard was around." Barry nods. "So he might not know that you…he…really wouldn't even consider this."

"I damn well hope not." Len snorts. "Sooner ice his ass."

"No icing of asses!" Barry says sternly, getting another snort from Len. "Um. Or anything else!" He gives Sara a pleading look. "Right? I mean, the priority is getting in and getting the guy and the kid out of there. And it's a plus to get reconnaissance for the police and info on this operation. In and out and no one hurt. Right?"

Sara hums to herself but looks thoughtful. "That's the priority," she agrees finally. "But if there are other opportunities…"

Barry can't argue with that.

* * *

They'd be at dinner now. Maybe they'd be having dessert or lingering over a nice glass of wine. Maybe they'd be addressing the smoldering attraction between them, the snarky ghost who haunts her, the chances that Len's going to be leaving, abandoning her just like…

But, no. They're standing outside an apparently derelict ruin near the water, because life cannot just give her a break, not even a small one, once in a while. Sara glares at the remains of the once impressive hotel, then at Barry. (She's decided she's blaming him.) He sidles away from her, looking a bit alarmed.

Len is studying the structure, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he glances at Barry too.

"Sorta odd, isn't it, that they haven't taken this thing down?" he drawls. "Public safety hazard and all?"

Barry shrugs. "It is," he admits. "When the old department store a bit closer to city center burned, they had the wreck down within a week after it stopped smoldering. I hadn't really thought about it. Why?"

But Sara's picked up on it, and moves over to stand next to Len, following his line of sight. "You're right," she tells him after a moment, earning a smirk. "Maybe not the best idea, because they're still going to get people wandering around. But interesting."

She takes pity on Barry, then, as he looks back and forth between them, and points to the wreck, the edge of the roof, the framework beneath the tattered, charred edges. "It's camouflage," she tells him. "That's their base. In a place people wouldn't expect. I don't know if they built from the ruins, or if they made sure the core wasn't damaged to begin with. But there's a solid structure in there. That's not coincidence."

Barry blinks at it, and her, then Len, who nods. "You really think so?"

Sara sighs. "Yes," she murmurs. "And at any rate, we'll find out soon. Len? Showtime?"

* * *

He nods, hand touching the mock cold gun strapped to his thigh, shrugging his shoulders within the unfamiliar leather jacket. "Let's go."

They head down the dock, Len leading, Sara and Barry flanking him and a step behind. Once they get closer, Len starts picking out the cameras hidden in the damaged woodwork, nodding to himself. He lifts his hands into the air and reaches for the rather insouciant drawl he knows he and his doppelganger have in common.

"Just want to talk," he says insolently, trying to keep an edge of ice in his voice, tone clearly suggesting that there's no way the hidden watchers could keep him out if he really wanted to get in. Which is, to be honest, true. "You _know_ who I am. Got plenty to…talk about."

And he waits. The listeners keep him waiting—hey, they have to try to keep the upper hand somehow—but he knows how to handle this stuff. He's dealt with the so-called Dark Knight, after all. No one does high and mighty like Bruce "I'm Filthy Rich" Wayne.

So, Len keeps boredom written across his face, folding his arms, standing hipshot and projecting the air that he's just letting the watchers grow big enough…nerve…to let him in.

He can feel a tension in the air that suggests Barry isn't managing it quite so well, but he's pretty sure Sara's perfectly echoing his own attitude. She knows how this works.

And so do the watchers. It's not nearly as long as it could have been before there's movement in the wreckage and a harsh voice rises.

"Follow."

* * *

Barry's pretty sure he's not managing the levels of sheer…well, chill…that both Len and Sara are exuding. But he's doing his best to fake it, eyes darting all over the place behind the dark glasses. Even if they can't take down Monteleone today, he'll remember the place and the route.

Sara and Len had been right. Within the wreckage, there's a sturdy core, and the corridor they're in nearly immediately transitions from ramshackle to solid. Len saunters along behind the dark-suited man who'd come to collect them, looking as casual as he's simply heading to Jitters for an iced Flash. Sara stalks along behind Barry, and he can feel her coiled-spring incipient violence prickling along his spine as she portrays the perfect bodyguard.

What is _he_ doing here again?

They take a few turns along the dark passageway, and Barry marks them. After a period of time that feels longer than it probably is, they emerge into a larger area, an almost cavernous hall that's still shadowy in places and brightly lit in others. People, standing at a number of tables and packaging…something…watch them, and it's a little disconcerting that there's something unsettled in many eyes, something even fearful, and it sure as hell isn't because they suspect the Flash is among them.

They're scared of Leonard Snart.

He wonders what Len thinks of that. But both men—Leonard and Len—hate the very notion of drugs in their city, and they both have (he sighs) or _had_ codes. Certainly, Len, ahead of him, is certainly looking very, well, chilly as he turns his head to watch them in return as he saunters after their guide.

So, for that matter, is Sara.

Yeah, Barry decides, he's definitely the least scary person in this group. Somehow, he really doesn't mind that.

The most shadowy corner is at the far end of the room, although he can somewhat make out a…a dais?...there. With a chair, and a man in the chair. A big man.

Their guide takes them right up to the dais and sidles off. Barry thinks he looks vaguely relieved. Well. He'd kind of like to do the same. But there's been no sign of a young boy and father, and that's what they're ultimately here for.

They're clearly meant to stay there on the ground like suppliants. Len's having none of it. He promptly continues right on to the platform, hopping up so nonchalantly that it seems he's always been meant to do that. Two dark-suited men on either side of the…it's almost a throne, really…start toward him, and Sara promptly joins him up there, stepping in front of him protectively even as Barry hastens to join her.

Len never drops his air of nonchalance, though, and the man on the thronelike chair waves a hand, sending the watchdogs off. Len tilts his head in acknowledgement, folding his arms as Sara moves back to his side. But Barry catches a glimpse of his face and his eyes…

His eyes are Cold.

* * *

The man looks just like his Earth's Monteleone. The bulk, the scowl, the assessing expression and the sharp, reptilian eyes. The air of pragmatism, the sort that, Len fervently hopes, isn't at all like his. The sort that simply cares only for the lists of numbers in his head, what they can do for him, which he needs to do away with.

Although the emotion at play is intense dislike and anger instead of anything fonder, he wonders if this is how some of the others he's met here have felt. It's hard, so hard, to believe the face you're seeing isn't the one you know.

For better or for worse.

He's gotta play, for now, like it is.

"So," he drawls, stepping forward, trying to take the upper hand as much as he can. "What are _you_ doin' here, Jack?"

The big man frowns at the casual use of his first name, just as the bodyguards bristle. But even as he opens his mouth, Len, who knows how to play these games, cuts in again.

"I mean," he says, shrugging, "this is _my_ city. And you know that. So. It's a little…odd…that you'd have decided _this_ is OK. When you know it's _not_. In my goddamned _city_."

Monteleone stares at him.

Monteleone's men (of course, there are no women—it's always a tell-tale sign) stare too.

Len shrugs again. As calmly as he can possibly manage, because, hell, it's true.

And after another moment, Monteleone finally speaks. "I," he says as coldly as Len has ever managed, "have this city now. It's mine. So, tell me. How is it _yours_?"

Possession, as they say, is nine-tenths of the law, and it's especially true on the street. But there are other accepted rules, too. "Ask your people," he drawls, holding Monteleone's gaze coldly. "Ask them why they looked so… _unsettled_ …to see me. _They_ know."

It's a palpable hit, and the other man knows it. It's why Len had known Monteleone would want to negotiate. Len can give him the seal of legitimacy he's going to want. To need, really, now that his crew knows Leonard Snart (so far as they know) is back.

"Word on the street was that you were gone," Monteleone says after a moment. "Dead, even."

Len shrugs. "Reports of my death, etcetera, etcetera," he drawls, sparing a moment of regret for his doppelganger-and trying hard not to glance at Sara, who's maintaining her air of violence as she watches the other man and ignores his unsettled bodyguards. "I've simply…diversified."

It's an opening. Monteleone takes it, even leaning forward a little. "So," he returns, and Len can tell he's trying to sound cool, and not too eager, "you might consider a…partnership of sorts. Since you've _diversified_."

Len tilts his head again, trying not to show how much the idea makes his stomach churn. "Might."

Monteleone waits, but the tables have turned, and he's the suppliant here. Which is exactly how Len had planned it. Finally, the bigger man speaks. "And how can we make that happen?"

This isn't real, Len reminds himself. He's not really allowing this drug operation in his city. He's just using this as a means to an end, to rescue a frightened child.

It doesn't help much.

"I'm practical," he returns, shrugging again. "Can't be everywhere. Follow some rules, and we'll be…cool. Still…I need a token. Of good faith."

Monteleone regards him steadily. "Such as?"

Moment of truth. "Hear you got some hostages. _Not_ cool. Give 'em to me."

It surprises the other man, who tries not to show it. "Why would you care about _them_?" he returns, waving a hand. "If you know I have them, you know why."

Time to show some ice. Len takes a step forward, eyes narrowed. "I do," he says coldly, as the bodyguards tense and Sara lets out a low hum of eager anticipation. "Like I said. _Not_ cool. Choose your people better, instead of taking your poor decisions out on kids. Got it?"

It might be a little too direct, but he needs to maintain the control here. And he's right. Monteleone knows it. After a moment, the big man nods.

"Go get them," he says to one of the bodyguards, who nods and, eyeing Sara (and Barry, briefly), moves away, vanishing into one of the corridors.

And they wait.

* * *

In the jacket, with the cold gun, he looks just like Leonard.

And he's acting just like she's pretty sure Leonard would here, and it's less acting than just that they're of similar mind in this, Sara thinks.

Still, at some point during this very strange date night, she's finally stopped thinking of him as an altered copy of Leonard, and more as Len, himself. Maybe it's the awareness of seeing him put on the Leonard persona like a costume. Maybe it's the "conversation" she'd seen him having with his reflection. It really doesn't matter.

It's also a very weird time to realize that, she thinks, eyeing the remaining visible bodyguard watching her with a rather satisfying flicker of fear in his eyes. (He's smart enough to recognize danger when he sees it, apparently.) But there it is. And when they get out of here, well, they'll see where the rest of the night takes them.

But first, they have a rescue to make. And Sara has an unsettled feeling that it's not going to be as easy as it seems. Len's not happy. She can feel it.

But all she can do at the moment is watch and play her part.

* * *

It takes longer than it probably should for the bodyguard to return with the hostages, but Len ignores that. Let them play their games. His group is getting what they want here.

Right?

His stomach is still churning, though. He's kept his air of nonchalance around this Monteleone, actually turning his back on the other man and studying the room at large, but he hates what he sees, the people packaging up substances both somewhat familiar and not. He loathes the fact that they'll think he's sold out his city, betrayed his code—the code he and his doppelganger shared. It seems just utterly unfair to the other man, who may have been an idiot about certain assassins, but certainly had his own sense of honor.

It doesn't feel right, to leave this image, however false, as Earth-1 Leonard Snart's legacy.

He'd really like to talk to Sara about it, but that's not happening, not now. She's keeping her steady gaze on Monteleone and the visible bodyguard. (He's pretty sure they both know that there are more, and he's also pretty sure Sara's marked where.) Barry, on his other side, is uneasy, but the kid is keeping his cool pretty well. Len's impressed. _His_ Barry (odd thought, that) would have, but this one seems younger, greener.

Len likes him, though. The kid cares about his city. Seems just wrong to leave him to fix this Monteleone mess.

But his turmoil's interrupted, then, as the bodyguard reappears, herding a tall, thin, bespectacled man and a young boy before him. The kid looks terrified, and Len's gut clenches in just a little more anger and unease. The man doesn't look much less frightened, but he's obviously trying to conceal it for the kid's sake, and Len likes him for that.

Even as he hates Monteleone all the more.

The man in question waves a hand, dismissing the terror he's caused as inconsequential. "They're yours," he says, rising to his feet, watching Len with assessing eyes. "Now. I still need to hear your…rules. But do we have a deal?"

He should say yes. He needs to say yes.

He feels Sara tense besides him. She knows.

He just can't do it.

Len shrugs, holding Monteleone's gaze. "Nope," he says flatly, earning a flash of surprise in those reptilian eyes.

And with that, he brings up his right hand and, with barely a regretful thoughtful for the nice jacket or his favorite shirt, ices up, letting fly a shot of ice that strikes the big man in the chest before his bodyguards even twitch, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing to the ground.

At the same time, Barry flashes into action, grabbing the bewildered-looking man and the kid and getting them the hell out of there, just like Len figured he would. Sara has her bo in her hands and one bodyguard is already hitting the ground, even as the other approaches and others move toward them from around the room.

Len knows she can take them, and he trusts her to guard his back. He remains focused on Monteleone, stepping forward as the man recovers enough to grab for the gun he'd suspected was there somewhere. You don't get to be Jack Monteleone by completely trusting others to do your dirty work for you. But he hasn't even got the thing aimed when Len ices it right out of his hand.

He's not bothering to be careful with his powers, and the man howls in pain as the freezing blast gives him a nice case of frostbite at the same time. Oh, well. Somewhat to Len's surprise, Monteleone remains self-possessed enough to try to get to his feet again, but Len ices the dais underneath him, and he crashes back to the floor, making everything shake. Behind him, he hears Sara actually snort with laughter.

Len steps forward again, aiming for the man's head, and the drug lord…heh…freezes. If Len was still pretending to be his double, he'd probably try to keep his expression chilly, but he doesn't bother. He lets the rage and disgust bubble up, and he lets Monteleone see it.

"I'm Len Snart," he tells the bigger man. "And this may not be quite my city, but it's close enough. You get the hell outta here and take your crap with you." Len narrows his eyes. "And maybe, if I don't hear anything more about you, you live. Maybe. That's the deal."

He can't resist. "Pray I don't alter it any further."

After a long moment, Monteleone climbs laboriously to his feet, a rather dumbfounded expression on his face that then transitions into anger. But he knows better than to say anything. He's lost here, and he knows it, and Len has all the cards. With one last glare, he vanishes into the darkness.

Just as Barry Allen flashes back to the scene.

"What…we could have had him!" he tells Len, surprise and distress in his voice. "Why did you let Monteleone go?"

Len shrugs, turning, and takes in the sight of Sara standing amidst a group of unconscious or groaning guards, idly spinning her staff in her hands. She smirks at him, and he wants nothing more than to walk over there, pull her into his arms and kiss her…but there's a speedster to manage who isn't going away.

"Look at it this way, kid," he says. "Monteleone just lost a ton of villain cred. Everyone else who was in here cleared out as soon as the fighting started, and they'll spread the story of how he got run outta town by the _real_ king of Central City." He cracks his knuckles, smirking. "And no one's gonna want to try to challenge that for a good while."

Barry eyes him but sighs, losing some of the high-and-mighty. "Even though it looks like you're working with the Flash?"

Len lifts a finger, and the smirk grows. "Think about it. It looked like the Flash was working for _me_."

Barry's jaw drops for the second time that day. Len, shaking his head, turns away, heading for Sara, who watches him with steady eyes.

He doesn't grab her and kiss her. He knows better. He stops a step away and takes a deep breath, staring into her eyes, and reaches for bravery.

"You're amazing," he tells her directly. "And I'm not going to call _him_ names anymore—I get it. Lots more issues. But, Sara Lance, if you give me the opportunity, I swear I'll show you who _I_ am. I want a chance with you. A real chance."

Sara smiles, a little. She shakes her head, and Len's heart drops…but then she reaches out, and puts her hand over his heart, very gently, over the much-abused blue shirt. (His heart, accordingly, speeds up.)

"Well," she says quietly, "I think we still have a date to continue. Len."

He clears his throat. "Ah. Bit too late for the place I'd planned."

"Eh. They have Big Belly Burger on your Earth?"

Surreal conversation to have in the midst of fallen enemies, the CCPD almost certainly on the way to clean the site, the Flash watching them with great bemusement. "Yeah. They open late enough here?"

"There's even a 24-hour site." Sara's smile grows.

That's sure as hell not going to be the reason he backs out now. "Sounds good."

"I'm starving," Barry says, a little wistfully, then takes a step back, lifting his hands as both of them stare at him. "Um. Not gonna keep interrupting date night. Sorry."

"I should hope not," Len mutters, then offers his arm to Sara again as sirens grow audible. "Time to go. See you 'round, Flash. Take better care of my city."

Barry doesn't try to argue. He just shakes his head, smiling, as he watches them go.

* * *

AUTHOR NOTE: There's an epilogue left.


	5. Epilogue

Messy burgers, Central City's best fries, and chocolate milkshakes weren't quite what Sara had expected tonight. But neither were beating up bad guys and taking out a drug lord. Hell, she'd expected to be back on the ship, watching bad movies and hoping the team stayed out of trouble.

She watches Len across the table, smiling, as he tries to keep his burger from dripping onto his already damaged shirt. He's shed Barry's jacket (which he'd so casually walked away with) and pushed up his sleeves and applied himself to the food in a way that reminds Sara that he is, in a way, a meta himself, and just burned a good number of calories in the use of his powers.

After a moment, he glances up and sees her watching, sharing a smirk. The restaurant is nearly empty at this hour of the night, too late for the usual dinner crowd, too early for the post-bar lot. It's rather nice in its own way, Sara's decided. Relaxing. Even…intimate. As intimate as one can get with a gang of talkative college students in the corner booth and a few workers talking idly behind the counter.

"Sorry," Len says after a moment, twirling a French fry in his fingers. "Not quite what I'd planned."

"That tends to happen around Legends," Sara tells him drily, dunking a fry of her own in her milkshake. "It's OK. I like this."

"Yeah?" And there's that lopsided grin again. She likes that, too. "So do I. Thai some other time?"

And an acknowledged second date? Sara's smile grows. "I'm good with that."

Oddly enough, Len's smile fades then. He regards her, his blue eyes serious, then shakes his head. "I know I'm not _him_ …"

Sara interrupts. "I don't want to talk about _him_ ," she says, voice perhaps a little too stern. "I'm here with _you_. I like that. I like _you_."

And when he still looks skeptical, she leans right over the table, wraps her fingers around his collar, drags him toward her…and kisses him.

The angle is a bit awkward; the debris of their late dinner is still scattered across the table between them. His lips taste like hot sauce, the sweetness of the milkshake is still on hers. But it doesn't stop them from deepening the kiss, ignoring the cheer that rises from the college students, and the cheerful cry of "get a room!" from behind the counter.

When they finally break it off, they're both a bit breathless, but grinning.

* * *

He kisses her again right before they get back on the Waverider, and it gets involved enough that they're both breathing hard when they part. Once onboard, though, he turns pure gentleman, taking her hand and turning it to press a kiss onto her wrist, then winking and sauntering off toward his room.

Sara, who's rethinking her not-falling-into-bed-after-one-date rule, heads regretfully for the bridge. Mick's still there, precisely where she'd left him, although presumably he's moved around at least a little, given the glass of something at his elbow.

He lifts an eyebrow at her as she moves onto the bridge, but Sara speaks first.

"Back a little late," she tells him, deciding not to go into details about the turn their evening had taken. "Sorry. If you want to head out, go ahead. Got a while until last call."

Mick's right eyebrow joins his left one as he watches her, even as he closes his book and sets it down. "Didn't go well?"

Sara's aware there's a slightly foolish smile on her face as she thinks about the kiss. Kisses. "Went fine. Great, actually. Just thought you deserved the chance to go out, too." She frowns, then, as the smirk on his face grows. "I told you…"

"Uh, huh." But Mick shrugs, getting to his feet. "Where's himself, them? I told Haircut I'd meet 'em out if I could. Maybe he wants to go."

"His room, I suppose." Sara's suddenly sure, though, that she doesn't want Mick to go invite Len out. Startlingly sure. "It was an expectedly…busy…night, though. Think he wanted some rest. I'd…I'd leave him be."

Mick regards her. "That so?"

"It is."

He doesn't quite smirk. Sara's glad. She's going to maintain plausible deniability as long as possible.

"OK, then." Mick nods. " 'Night, Sara. See you."

"Thanks, Mick." She watches him go, then sighs, subsiding into the captain's chair and considering her actions, her words. Her thoughts.

Her feelings.

Then, after an interminable amount of time, she rises again, and heads to her room.

* * *

She raps on his door not that long later, changed into soft sleep pants and an old T that nonetheless hugs her body in a very alluring, she thinks, fashion. Comfortable clothes. Not purposefully sexy, but not avoiding the notion, either.

Time enough, potentially, for skimpy nighties and purposeful seduction. They're somewhere else at the moment. Somewhere that owes more to friendship slipping into something deeper, comfort given and received. And if things go there…well. It's OK. It's good.

Len answers, and he's changed too. Boxers, she thinks…she's never seen his legs before and she's not going to stare…and another of his gray Ts. He looks a little surprised to see her, but not as much as she thought he might, and there's a warmth in his eyes that tells her she's done the right thing.

"Can't sleep. Still too much adrenaline," she tells him, waving the deck of cards, watching his eyebrows rise. "Can I come in?"

His lips twitch into a smirk, eyes shining at her. "Of course," he says, taking a step back. "Any time."

The door slides shut behind her.


End file.
